Motherhood Memory

I remember ice skating when I was a girl.
I skated on a small lake with the family for whom I used to babysit.
I skated at an indoor rink as well.
I could never do fancy twists and turns, but I enjoyed ice skating all the same.

I used to love to roller skate.
I had the kind of skates that were metal and fit over my shoes.
The skates came with a key, which I used to tighten them if needed.
I wore the key around my neck on a string.

Both types of skating had one thing in common.
Whenever I took off the skates, I felt as if I was still skating.
Anyone who has had that same sensation knows exactly what I mean.
It is as if your legs have a skating memory even after the skating has stopped.

I had that same sensation after stepping off a moving sidewalk.
I was on solid ground but it felt as if I was still moving.
It is a strange feeling.
I knew that the actual motion had stopped; I just needed to tell my legs.

The days of a young mother are very full.
She goes all day long, tending to her family with love.
She is in the throes of diapers, and feedings, and training.
She is often sleep deprived, yet she would do it all over again for the little baby she loves.

Some days a young mother operates on autopilot.
She does task after task without thinking.
She tries to rest when her baby naps, but sleep is allusive.
There are things that need to get done.

A mother is not aware of how deep her role of mother really goes.
I became aware of that the other morning.
You never forget how to ride a bike.
You never stop being a mom.

My youngest daughter was dressed for work.
Her bedroom door was closed over, but not closed all the way.
I could see that she was asleep on her bed.
She was dressed and ready earlier than expected, so she had time to close her eyes.

I knocked softly on her door, forgetting that she was to go into work a bit later.
She did not stir.
I walked into her room and touched her arm gently; she stirred.
I then remembered the change in her schedule and left her room quietly.

I came downstairs and thought about skating.
I thought about the skating memory in my legs even after the skates came off.
I concluded that motherhood comes with its own memory.
There are things a mother is so used to doing, they become second nature to her.

My daughter is a college graduate.
She has a wonderful job.
She is capable.
She gets to work on time each day.

So what was I doing?
The motherhood memory took over.
I used to go in and gently wake my children if they fell back to sleep after their alarm went off.
That was when they were young; this is now.

The motherhood memory is real.
I heard myself say to my son and his wife, Text me when you get home.
They respectfully did just that.
Motherhood memory again.

It is as if there is a switch that never quite turns off.
You are always their mom.
However, as grown men and women, the actual mothering has stopped.
A mother will hear words from all those years ago come out of her mouth.

It surprises her.
She never plans it.
Motherhood is so ingrained in her.
Motherhood memory is a real thing.

She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. (Proverbs 31: 25-30)

When my daughter came downstairs, I apologized for trying ever so gently to wake her up.
She just smiled.
I explained about the skating memory that I remembered so well.
I’m afraid I have motherhood memory, too, I confessed.

She laughed.
I know it is true.
Motherhood memory lessens as your children become adults.
However, it never completely goes away.

Perhaps that is why we miss our mothers so much when they are not with us any longer.
There is no one who remembers.
There is no one to touch our arm gently.
There is no one to mother us.

There is a void that we feel when we least expect it.
There is a heart pain that comes on as a sneak attack.
Motherhood memory is real.
Let us embrace what God has instilled in us as mothers.

The skates may be off but the skating memory continues.
The children may be grown but the motherhood memory lingers.
That is fine.
That is more than fine.